Rue's Lullaby
by We Want the Airwaves Back
Summary: The Hunger Games told from Rue's perspective.


**Part 1: The Tributes**

**Chapter One: Reaping**

Quiet sobs bring me to the surface. I open my eyes, breathing heavily as threads of my recurring nightmare slowly linger in my mind before disappearing completely. It's the same dreams, every night. They are the nightmares a mother cannot protect you from. They are the nightmares where no amount of assurance and comfort can wash away the brutal thoughts. I see myself standing in an open field, the grass stained red with innocent blood, and mine soon to join. These dreams have haunted me since I turned twelve and my name was put in the reaping ball. Even with just one name out of a thousand others, I know from previous years that it is still possible for me to be chosen.

I curl my fingers tightly around the frayed edges of the quilt and sit up. The fading rays of moonlight light up a figure sitting on the edge of the bed. Her olive skin and mahogany eyes glisten with sweat and tears. Her knees are drawn up and her small frame trembles uncontrollably. I look outside the battered window. It isn't even dawn yet but I know the sunrise that dooms two children's fates is soon to arrive.

"Kya?" I say softly, trying not to wake the rest of my sisters that share the same small bed. She turns her head slightly, tears still shining on her cheeks. She's scared. Scared for me. It's my first year in the reaping for District 11. And today is the day of the Reaping.

Since my birthday in April, I have been a contender for the 74th Hunger Games. The Hunger Games were created as punishment for what happened in the Dark Days, a time where an uprising in all the districts stood against the Capitol. Twelve Districts remained while the thirteenth was obliterated. The rules for the Games were simple. In punishment for the uprising, each of the twelve districts would offer up one man and woman between the ages of twelve and eighteen to fight to the death in an arena. The last standing tribute would be bathed in riches and fame while the other districts grieved for their lost children. It was barbaric. But I'd learned to keep my mouth closed about the leaders of Panem if I wanted to stay out of trouble.

I slide out of the covers and crawl across to where my youngest sister sat. Pulling her into a hug, I savor the moment, wondering if this will be the last time I see her. For minutes, that's all we do, until she finally pulls back and sniffles, "please Rue. Please don't get picked."

I touch her cheek gingerly. "My name is in only once. One out of thousands. It won't be me." I assure her, closing my eyes and trying to believe my own words. I caress her hair, soothing her sobs until she falls asleep in my arms. My eyes droop slowly and darkness consumes me.

I wake a few hours later, Kya still sleeping soundlessly in my arms. I carefully disentangle myself and pad across the cold wooden floors. I pass my mother who is busily scrubbing dishes vigorously in the sink, her dark eyes weary from District 11 fatigue. She smiles gently at me before I push open the front door and step out into the light. No one is out. Not a single soul wandering the streets. The fields were barren and still, the only sound coming from the mockingjays whistling to each other.

I run across the crumbly ground and slump in front of a large orange tree. Pursing my lips, I whistle to the birds softly and listen as my tune is carried around the village. I reach up and clutch the jagged bark, hoisting myself onto the branches. Over the village, not one person roams. Today is the one day nobody works. Today they are busy inside, dressing their children and praying to the gods. I slide back towards the trunk, my dark hair hanging messily over my face. One in a thousand chances it would be me. It was slim, but it didn't mean I was absolutely safe. Tears roll down my cheeks but I wipe them away before it's noticeable that I've been crying. I jump through branches, landing stealthily on the thinnest parts, my toes pointed, my posture extend forward, arms back. I love this feeling. The feeling of freedom. The feeling that despite everything, I'm going to be alright.

My mother pokes her head through the door and looks up into the trees. Even though I am concealed, she knows that's where I'll be. That's where I'll always be. "Rue!" She calls. "It's time to get ready."

The words slam into me hard. I teeter forwards, reluctant to climb down. When I do come down and run back inside, my sisters are standing around the table, eyes glistening with unshed tears. At my entrance, they run to me, embracing me tightly. I kiss Kya and hug four year old Melody while the youngest, Rhine, clutches my legs. My mother pries them away and washes me under the cold water. She curls my hair and pulls it into a small bun, then retrieves something from her pocket. She holds it up so I can see and I realize they are the clips she wore in her hair on her reaping day. Thin silver butterfly clips. She slides them into place, kissing my cheeks and helps me into a delicate blue dress.

"Rue darling…" She whispers uneasily. "I love you so much. You know that right? I may be busy at times and not spend enough time with you, but you have to know that I –"

"I know momma." I tell her. "You can tell me all about it when we have dinner tonight."

She smiles bravely and hugs me tight. "Oh, gosh, when did you become so mature?"

I giggle and meet her with my sisters at the door. She pulls baby Ashen from her crib and together we walks silently down into the village square, joining the rest of the children from District 11.

_Keep calm. You can do this. It'll all be over soon. _I clasp and unclasp my sweaty hands nervously. The Justice Building comes into view and my breathing become ragged. _Oh, god. It's time. I can't do this. I can't do this._

"Rue" Kya tugs on my arm. I look down at her, my fear is mirrored in her eyes. "I…I hope…If you…" Words fail her. My eleven year old sister, the one who will be in this same place next year, wraps her tiny arms around me and blinks back more tears. Although we do not speak, I understand what she wants me to know. Her little hands grip my dress and my mother has to pull her away. My sisters all stand in a line beside my mother, holding their hands tightly, their eyes staring into mine with hope and despair.

Harsh peacekeepers herd me into a line with other young children and we stand together, a sea of fearful faces. Time has worn down the Justice Building and vines wrap around the stairs like skeletal witch fingers. The mayor sits on the podium in a row of four chairs. Next to him is the bubbly Greta Bespoke, district 11's mentor along with two of District 11's victors Seeder and Chaff. Their posture is formal but in their eyes is deep sadness and sympathy. Another year of mentoring children destined to die will do that to someone.

The mayor concluded his speech with a sad laugh and waves towards Greta. "Now then, I suppose we should begin. Miss Bespoke, if you will…"

Greta rises from her chair and a hush falls over the crowd. I look back at my family, standing side by side, hands held and heads down. Looking at them, I pray I don't get picked. My swiftness in tree climbing, great slingshot aim and gathering skills are enough to ward of starvation and keep hidden. But if it I was faced against say, someone from District 1, I know I will have no chance.

Greta makes her way to the podium, her high heels clicking against the ground making that the only sound in the area. Even the mockingjays have stopped singing. Everything is deadly silent. The camera's flash over the crowd once more before returning to her.

She makes me sick. The way she walks with such a big smile on her face is disturbing. She's lining children up to be slaughtered and it doesn't bother her one bit. She leans towards the microphone and claps her hands together. I know what she's going to say because she says it every year.

"Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be _ever_ in your favor!" An image whirls through my mind: Kya and I imitating her in the fields. Our mucking around had earned us a good slap from the peacekeepers but we'd continued to do it anyway, just less openly. If it weren't such horrible circumstances, I would have initiated an eye roll.

She paces towards the two large glass balls filled with the next tributes names. I bite my bottom lip. Around me, the other twelve year olds have similar expressions of distraught.

She clears her throat. "It's time! I can't believe the day is here. Well then, which lucky one of you will have the honor of representing District 11 in the 74th Hunger Games!" She walks towards the boys ball first. "Men first, shall we?" There is an intake of breath as her slender fingers drop inside the ball. She pulls out a paper slip, unfolds it and reads. "Thresh Strom!"

Everyone's eyes dart to a large seventeen year old. He's massive. I've seen him around the village but not enough to really know him. Like everyone, he's got the same olive skin and depthless eyes. His face is passive like it's been frozen in time but his eyes hold fear. I watch him lumber towards the podium and stand next to Greta.

"Oh, wow." She grins, grabbing his arm. "Look at this boy. Maybe District 11 has got a chance this year." She looks at us in the crowd, waiting for a response. We don't give her one.

Undeterred she reaches for the female's ball. "Alright ladies, who's up?" Her fingers fish around the ball briefly before she retrieved the slip. I hold my breath. My fingers pinch my skin and my heart thumps erratically. The world is silent. The camera's zoom in towards Greta. She beams in a bright voice and looks up.

"Rue Hathaway!"


End file.
